Muted
by Kikaruu
Summary: A somewhat depressing and comforting story about Tamiya, and how she struggles to deal with the loss of her best friend, Milly. But with her voice gone, this is a bit of a challenge.
1. It's Okay

It sort of looks bad, and is sort of embarassing, that all of my stories for Code: Lyoko up until now have been centered on romance. Let's try something new, eh?

__________

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head, a no. I don't want to talk about it. Even if I wanted to, I can't. My voice has gone, probably from all the crying, It could be that something that's switched off in my brain. I don't care, really. Talking won't bring her back.

The woman sighs, and I feel sort of bad. Even though I don't feel like talking, I don't like to upset people. Now she's trying to reason with me. "Look, Tamiya, this isn't getting us anywhere. I'm here because your friends and teachers are worried about you. Personally, I'm worried about you, too."

I look up at her. "That's right, I'm worried about you. This isn't healthy. What if you stay silent for so long that you lose the use of your vocal cords? And emotionally, bottling up your feelings is unsafe as well. You ever shake a can of soda and have it explode all over you? We don't want you to explode."

The woman picks up a can of some store-brand soda from her desk and pushes on the tab. It opens with a hiss, and she passes it to me. I take it as she pops open her own soda and we sip in silence, the bubbly liquid scorching my throat like liquid fire.

"Instead, we want you to open up. Can you hear the soda talking? Listen." She presses her can to my ear, and I resist the impulse to move away. The can isn't even cold, but I can hear the little whispers of bubbles floating to the top and bursting. "Sounds a lot better than the hiss of static an exploding drink causes, right?" I nod.

"Anyway, this probably seems all weird to you, right? This crazy counselor who talks about soda instead of thoughts?" She grins, and I half-smile back. I don't want her to feel like she's failing at her job, but honestly, we still aren't getting anywhere. I still can't speak, and I still feel sick as heck.

I pull the legal notebook over to my side of the desk, and quickly scrawl, 'What's your name?'

She pulls the tablet over to her side, and takes a pen from her cup. 'Symone. Simone Locoer.' I smile at the unnecessary written repetition of the first name, and she laughs back.

'Sorry. If I could talk, I would,' I scribble, and she reads it upside down.

"It's okay for now. Until then, let's try and get that voice back, okay?" She stands, and moves to my side of her desk. I stand, and she embraces me in a tight hug. I awkwardly try to get over my surprise and hug her back, and she laughs. "You're free to leave, Tamiya Diop," she says in a fake-sounding deep voice, and opens the door to her office.

I do leave, wave back at her, and head towards the doors of the administration building, or HQ, as I like to call it. I can go relax now; it's Friday, and there's nothing else to do. Normally, I'd be meeting with Milly, but... Milly is dead now.

Death really messes with your head, you know. I'm expecting to turn the corner and see Milly waiting for me in front of the dorm room, with her microphone in hand. I turn the corner and she isn't there. There're only the open doors to the Dormitory Block A building, and someone's backpack, laid against the steps. And next to the building, a large expanse of empty ground, surrounded by building materials and roses, dedicated to those lost in the freak earthquake.

I only wish that she was here.

As I enter my own dorm room, I turn on my boom box and pop in my favorite CD to chill out to: My Bloody Valentine's _Loveless_. Some say that it really isn't suited for relaxing, but I beg to differ. It's easy for me to get lost in the sonic mayhem, and when I slip on my headphones, I fall asleep in a heartbeat. With the stereo gently blazing, I can take in my anti-drug a little slower.

I close the door, ease the knob a little higher, and switch on my laptop. I think I'll do a bit of typing for... for the school paper, and then I might torrent the rest of Paranoia Agent.

I think I'll be okay. I'm already past that point where the fact that you're best friend is gone really hits you. All I think of at this point is the memories. I'm still keeping count absentmindedly, though; it's been two months, three days, and six hours since I heard that Tamiya was killed.

And you know the worst thing about it? She died peacefully, doing what she loved – journalism. We were staying at Kadic for summer vacation, as we were both orphans, and didn't have any family to visit. Sucks, right? Well, we heard news that freak weather was in the area, and we decided to check it out. Stupid, right? We didn't think that' it' be anything major. On the news, there were no major changes. No tornadoes were predicted, no hurricanes, no earthquakes. The only weird thing was a large cloud, impossibly big, and ominously dark.

Honestly, it should not have existed. It was too big to stay afloat, so to speak, and too tall. But it did. And with it, it brought carnage.

Moving on now. Milly and I walked outside, and got some footage of the giant shelf. It was moving pretty fast, and just in case, we went back inside.

And then, the earthquake hit.

I acted on impulse, and now I thank God for those earthquake drills we used to do when we were younger, and thought they were stupid. I grabbed Milly, pulled her under the doorway, and we braced each other as the world fell apart around us. The camera was still rolling, pointed at the ground, and Milly and I crouched on the floor, hugging each other and hoping we wouldn't be crushed. After all, the Kadic dormitory is three stories high.

We were fine, though – the solid metal doorway held, and we were surrounded by rubble, in a small pocket of space. After a moment's hesitation, I turned the camera's light on and pointed it at Milly.

We were both acting solely on... what, instinct, impulse, or just working by rote? She started speaking, and I can't help but remember what she said.

"Th-this is Milly with KNN – Kadic News Network. Me and my co host Tamiya are trapped here under what's left of the Kadic dormitory Block B. An earthquake has just hit Kadic College, and we are still here. We don't know how long our air will last, or how long we'll be trapped here. We hope that this eyewitness footage may be of some help in the future."

She laughed then, and said that her delivery was so unprofessional. I laughed with her, and we were a little calmer. She opened her mouth to say something else, and then we heard a small noise like water being poured from a bucket.

We both looked up, and of all things to do, I kept the camera trained on her. And then, something shifted, and the rock came down on her. A moment she was there, and then in an instant, she wasn't.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Did Milly just... I couldn't even finish the thought. But then, I saw the blood seeping out from between the rocks, rocking like tide against my crossed legs. I could feel the vibrations as the ground was impacted right in front of me. I can still remember hearing my own screams as the realization hit me, and...

And after that, I blacked out. I don't know if it was lack of oxygen, or shock, or what. My memories begin in the hospital, with an IV drip and the Headmaster at my side. I looked at him, and he looked at me, and it was like he understood that I wanted to know if Milly was there or not. As he slowly shook his head and closed his eyes, I simply laid my head against the pillow and let the tears come. It was final; she was dead. I could and can only hope she died instantly.

He laid his hand on mind, and I took it, and squeezed. After that, I fell asleep, and haven't spoken since.

It's times like these, then, when I'm listening to _Loveless_, that I think of her. It's sort of sad, isn't it? Our favorite song was "I Only Said", from _Loveless_. It was our favorite album to have playing in the background while we edited video, or set gutters, or fixed the kerning on the layouts. We listened to lots of other stuff, too, like Massive Attack, Linkin Park and Creed, but... that one album was special.

So, laying here with my head on the warm lid of my laptop, and "I Only Said" blaringly gentle in my ears, I cry. I cry for her, for the horrible way in which she dies, and the hurt she left behind. My tears then change from sadness to anger, and I bite back a sob. I'm not angry with her; I'm really mad that she isn't here.

It's maddening to know that I could've tried to do something in that one moment when it all came down around us, but I only kept the camera focused on her. And as much as I hate to admit it, there was nothing I could do.

What if we had walked the extra distance to the lunchroom? What if we had stayed late to help Ms. Hertz clean the science lab like we thought about doing? There are so many "What if" questions, but there was only one outcome. Was there anything I could do? I want to go back and try at least _something_. I can't though, logic tells me. Even if I did go back there, I wouldn't have made a difference. But that's life... you know?

Wiping away my tears, I guess I'm still not completely over it, and I don't know if I'll ever be. Will my voice come back? Will I ever be able to listen to our song without being reminded of her, without crying? Time will tell, I guess. Until then, I'll try to make do without her. She'd want that, at least. I can only try to give it to her.

__________

That was pretty difficult to write. Tell me in a review if I should continue or not. It's just an oneshot for now, but I have ways of extending it. Cheers. -_-"


	2. You're Not Alone

I was sort of at a loss as to what to center this chapter around, but I finally decided on what I think will really make it shine.

__________

Don't you just love showers? I do. I especially like to take them around midnight. Everyone is sleeping then, so I can relax and walk around without being bothered. With the towel still sort of clinging to my body, and the soft carpet whispering under my feet, I can get a lot of my thinking done.

I first got the idea from Emily. I remember when almost every girl in Kadic had a total crush on Ulrich, myself included, and Emily would do all sorts of things to make him notice her. She'd help him with his homework, let him borrow whatever supplies he needed, and take midnight showers just so she could catch him wandering the halls at night. Yeah, she had many different ideas about how woo him away from Yumi.

I never understood why Ulrich would wander the halls. He and his friends used to do really weird stuff... In fact, they still do. But Ulrich was weird in a different way. While everyone else was plain weird (especially Odd), Ulrich was weird in an approachable way. You could totally walk up to him, and he wouldn't talk much. Weird. But he'd listen, at least. I think that's part of why liked him; he was a perfect balance of aloof, strange, and normal.

Enough about him. What matters now is that I'm happy, the world is happy, and a shower is one of life's simple pleasures. Really. Just take one with the heat as high as possible, and just let the water envelop you for a solid thirty minutes. It's epic.

My walking is interrupted by of all people, Aelita. I never see her awake at this hour, so what could she be up to?

"Oh, hi, Tamiya," she says, a mixture of surprise and joy splashed upon her face.

I nod once, to let her know that I'm listening.

"So... Why are you up so late?"

'I should ask you the same thing,' I mouth, happy that she's a lip-reader.

"Yeah, right. I'm actually part owl, don't ya know."

'Oh really?' I smile, and she smiles back.

"Yeah really."

'No way!' We both laugh, except mine is silent. And then, we laugh because I can't, and because it's just plain fun to make light of a condition like mine. I keep forgetting how alive and bubbly she is, even though we hang out more and more now. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to replace Milly or anything. We all used to hang out before she died. We thought that it'd be awkward at first, since we were missing our mutual friend. It has worked out okay, though, and it seems like we'll only come closer.

"Okay, okay, enough," she manages to say, and we both let out a trailing chortle. "I just never knew that you were so much like Emily. I mean, you both wear your hair the same, and there's that whole midnight showers thing..."

'Yeah, she was sort of my mentor...'

"Like I am now?" She raises an eyebrow, and I grin a little.

'Exactly.' I seem to forget a lot of things when time passes. Aelita is what, seventeen now? I'm only fourteen. And yet, we hang out like there's no age gap at all. She jokes about it sometimes. Either she's way behind in mental development (pssh, yeah, right), or I'm a little advanced for my age (maybe). I roll my eyes and tell her, sort of, that we just like the same things. Age is nothing. And strangely, the more I say it, the more sense it makes. Why should your age mean so much? So what if you've spent three more years on this planet? You're still you, and I'm still me. Let's have fun.

'One thing... Are you still going to ask Jeremy out tomorrow?' I mouth.

"Oh, stop it, Tamiya," she replies, blushing a little. "Yeah, I am, ha ha! Everyone knows I have to ask him out. Otherwise, we won't get anywhere!" We laugh, and I give her a slight punch on the shoulder.

'Now _you_ stop it. Jeremy's a great guy. He's just a little... timid.'

"What?" She turns her head, but then realizes that that's not going to help her hear anything anyway, so... I simply repeat what I "said", but more slowly. 'Jeremy is a nice guy. He just is a little timid.'

"Oh, okay." She puts her finger to her my chin for a second and looks to the side, her little idiosyncratic way of thinking. Then she slides her eyes over at me and says, "You're not thinking of some large word, are you?"

'Wait... what?' Now I raise an eyebrow.

"I saw you reading the encyclopedia again. You can't hide it from me, you know. Let me guess... idiosyncratic?"

I laugh, amazed at her ability to always know what I'm thinking. 'I know, I know,' I reply, over-dramatizing my annoyance at her calling me out. I know it seems like a dull way to kill time, but reading the encyclopedia isn't so bad. It puts you to sleep easily, and you learn crap at the same time. Cool, right? Anyway, I got my collection from Jeremy, actually. He was trying to downsize his room, and saw a stack of volumes, so now they're mine!

"Well, I'm going to go hit the sack. Jeremy and I had so much work to do, and now I'm all tuckered out," she pouts.

'Bah, whatever. Don't do anything stupid this time.' She laughs, and I wave her off and grin, and then we part ways. Isn't it great to be able to communicate?

And yet, even while communicating, I miss the talking. So much more can be said, so to speak, when you speak. Ha ha. I mean, it's really hard to try to tell someone that they're mascara is running when you can't, well, tell them. It's crazy the amount of gestures I have to make. I'm practically a mime by now. You name it, I can act it out, and people usually get what I mean within a moment or two.

See, now all I can think about is Hiroki, Yumi Ishiiyama's brother. First of all, he was totally weird. He had a manga collection that rivaled Odd's, he would do handstands in the hallway, his handwriting was pure scrawl, he was always smiling, even when no one saw anything funny. But I think of him mostly because was a master mime. The Stairs, the Box, the Lasso, the Whatever-You-Want-To-Insert-Here. He did it all.

He was also all over Milly, and Milly was into him, too. Well, as into him as she could be at eleven, but whatever. What's sad is that Milly and Hiroki hung out for a month before she called it quits. They weren't dating, but they were really, really good friends in that short month. They were a hair short of what Milly and I were, and I got jealous, which is hard for me to get. Anyway, she just decided one day that she didn't want to go any further with Hiroki.

But, wow, you should've seen the guy. He took it _hard_. He still "loved" her, as he said, even though she wasn't interested. But Milly, the good girl that she was, humored him. They both thought that nothing special was going to happen, but they still did stuff together, for about three years. Hiroki still had hope, the crazy kid, and maybe he was right. A few months ago, about a month before the earthquake, Milly told me that she was starting to change her mind. She said that one of those days she was going to try to hook up with him.

And the worst thing is, she did. She went to the Ishiiyama's, out of the blue, and asked if she could see Hiroki. And there, they officially decided that they were going to start dating. They were back to normal, sort of. I wasn't jealous anymore, just sort of proud of Milly. And then, a week later, was the earthquake.

How bad is that?

One week. He only had one week, one real week of close proximity with her before she was snatched away. Remember how he took it hard when she "broke up" with him the first time? He took it even harder when she died. I thought I was screwed up, but he was, and still is, even worse. He's getting better again, but even still, he is not who he used to be. He jumps at things, he won't set foot in a museum for some reason, and he never comes to school anymore.

I visited him once, and I'm planning on going tomorrow, too. But that first time, I was scared. He looked so... so broken, as if he was a jigsaw puzzle that someone had cut up. He was a real puzzle at first, with how weird he was, but I barely recognized him.

On the inside, though, he was like smashed glass. His voice was raw, he was shrouded in blankets and duvets, and he was pale as milk. His mom said that he's sick, sick from a hard to cure ailment: grief. He misses her, plainly. His love for her was so strong that his mental torment spread to his physical well being. It might sound crazy, but it happens.

He knew that he was sick, too, and he knew why. He just couldn't get over her death. He felt responsible, like I did, and sometimes still do. He wished it was him instead of her. He was just plain sad. We talked for three hours, just letting the awkwardness slide away, and replacing it with mutual understanding. We were getting tired, though, so I started to end the conversation.

'If it was her instead of you, then wouldn't she feel like you do?' I wrote.

"Yeah," he said, his voice like gravel. "That's why I'm so... _angry_. It's like whatever happened, one of us would be unhappy. I die, she's sad. She died, I'm... sad. Either way, it just isn't right."

I thought for a moment, trying to think of what to write. 'Not to be callous, but that's life.'

"Yeah. That's why it's so screwed up. This whole thing, I mean - life, her death. It's not fair, Tamiya. Nothing is." And then, he pretty much fell asleep.

You know, the whole thing with Hiroki kills me a little inside. Why does he have to go through this? He's barely my age. But again, that's life.

It makes me just want to say, "Screw life", like Hiroki did. He's not suicidal or anything, just pissed. I know how he feels. I'm sure that all of us who knew Milly do.

As I stand in front of my door, I wonder if Milly will be waiting on the other side, wearing a towel like me, eager to stay up late like every Saturday night and play our outdated little Gamecube. Maybe, just maybe this is all a horrible dream. But alas, I turn the knob and her smiling face isn't there to greet me. Only her empty bed stares lifelessly, and I shudder. I'm definitely not going to sleep well tonight. But hopefully, I'll eventually get over this whole thing.

If there's one thing I regret, now that she's gone, it's not telling her how much she really means to me, as weird as that might sound. She might make a face and laugh it off, but I know that inside, she'd be touched, and maybe a little creeped out... But then, we'd be closer. And that's all that matters.

I think I'm more and more like Hiroki the more and more I think about Milly. I just miss her.


	3. It Might be Your Body

Sorry for the late story -- I've been rather swamped with a ton of stuff lately. Here is Chapter 3 of muted. Chapter 7 of Green Crush is soon to follow.

__________

Her hands cover my own, and we exhale slowly.

"There. Isn't that better?"

I nod, and withdraw my hands. She smiles, and I smile back. And then, we know that something good is going to come out of this session. I arch my back and stretch, and grin as Miss Locoer covers her mouth in mock embarassment. "Young lady, don't you know to cover your stomach.

'Well, excuse me,' I mouth.

"Sorry, I'm not a good lip reader."

I then remember that I'm not with Aelita, and mentally kick myself. The tablet is back in my hands, and I scrawl, 'Sorry, didn't know that I could offend anyone with all my flab.'

She laughs, and we begin. "Okay, so last time, we discussed..." She looks down at her notes and frowns. "Soda pop?"

I giggle, and she flips the page. "Okay then... Today, we're going to discuss what I think might be the root of the problem: your throat."

I stare at her.

"Well, you said you screamed for a long time, right? Maybe even after losing consciousness?"

I nod, still staring.

"Well, maybe you hurt something. I mean, I'm no doctor, but I know that my voice gets hoarse after I've had a good cry. You know what I mean?"

I nod... still staring.

"And blink once, would you? It's unnerving." I blink, and she smiles. "So I'm going to have a doctor look at your cords and throat and all that good stuff tomorrow, okay?"

I nod.

"Good. Aside from that, I'm thinking that there may be other forces at work here."

'Like what, spirits?' I write.

"More like psychological damage. Not to offend you when I say that, but it's possible that you're so shaken over the whole event that your speech centers have simply shut down. Maybe you equate speaking with Milly, since she was KNN's news anchor. D'you see what I'm getting at?"

I write, 'Yes. But what about the fact that I can freely discuss her and not break down like I used to?'

"The mind works in mysterious ways, Tamiya. The mind works in mysterious ways." Her eyes grow large and she puts on her serious face, and I try not to giggle. And then, she slaps her knee and laughs raucously, and I laugh along, my body shuddering as I can't make any sound. We sit there for a moment, laughing our hearts out, and finally we calm down. I look at Miss Locoer again and I realize she looks vaguely disappointed.

"Sorry about that. I was trying to see if maybe I could get an audible laugh out of you, as a sort of step in the right direction, but alas. I do think we made some progress today."

I roll my eyes at the phrase.

"Now you hush. I'm paid to say that, after all." She grins, and reaches across her desk and tweaks my left ear. "You're actually a sweet kid, you know that?"

I'm tempted to roll my eyes and groan, 'Moooomm!" but I can't. I only blush and mouth, 'Thanks.'

"So, before you leave, I want you to try some exercises. I have a hunch that it is your throat, and not something up here." She taps her temple with her pen. "I'm going to ask you to go on a diet. Can you do that?"

I nod, somewhat surprised at the question.

"Good. At dinner, I need you to eat ice cream for dessert, if you don't already. I also want you to gargle with salt water when you wake up and go to bed."

I slowly reach for the tablet. 'Aren't those sore throat remedies?'

"Yes. I don't think your voice could still be sore after all this time, but I think it's worth a shot. Like I said, the doctor will be able to do more for you. Okay?"

I nod.

"One more thing: try to watch a few heart-wrenching or horror movies. Maybe when crying, you'll hear yourself make a sound, which means we're getting somewhere. And as far as horror goes, you might jump ten feet and scream, which means we've got sound!"

'Sound?'

"You see, when I hear you talk, all I hear is air. There's no sound, not even a whisper, just the sound of air. Maybe when you go through some distress your cords will kick in. And then, we'll have some sound."

I nod, and write, 'Should I try to play a few scary games, too?'

"Absolutely. Just don't wet yourself on the first level, okay sweetie?" She winks and laughs, and stands up. "Well, anyway, I think we're done for today. Oh, and here is your note..." She finished scribbling something on a simple form, then tore it from her clipboard and handed it to me.

'Note for what?' I mouth.

"For your diet. I mean, ice cream is so horrible, I wouldn't dare serve more than you need." She winks again, and I laugh. Ice cream is great.

'Thanks,' I scrawl.

"No, thank you. Believe it or not, your presence is nice in itself. Now go to your room; you've got some movies to watch." And smiling, I walk out of the door, ready to go find something scary.


	4. The Good Doctor Says

"I'm finished."

"What?" asks Nurse Yolanda, obviously surprised at his speed.

"I'm finished." The old Dr. Samick snaps off his gloves and takes the stethoscope from his ears.

"But all you did is listen to her chest."

"That's all that was necessary. I am a specialist, after all." The doctor laughs at his joke, puts down his stethoscope, and turns to me. "I mean, I personally think that I'm finished and that know why you lost your voice at this point. I've seen this thing before, and I'm sure that the cause of your aphonia, or loss of speech, is a damaged recurrent laryngeal nerve. Would you like me to explain?" he asks my counsellor, the school nurse and I.

I and the two other women nod.

"Well, your larynx, or voice box, is responsible for speech. It houses the vocal folds, or vocal cords, which vibrate to produce pitch, and therefore, sound. Now, from what I can tell, her folds are perfectly fine. They thrum softly when she exhales, and also when she inhales. However, they cannot be modulated, or controlled." He pauses for a moment and produces a pad of paper and a pen from his briefcase.

"So she's like a car without a driver?" asks the counselor, winking at me at the notion that I might be brain dead. I roll my eyes and wait for the doctor to continue.

"Well, at least her larynx is. See, let me draw you something. Imagine that this," he points to a rectangle, "is her voice box." He draws a line to something resembling an old style dynamite-detonation pump. "And this is her mind. Well, I think that somehow," he rips the sheet of paper in half, "this nerve, the recurrent laryngeal nerve, was damaged or severed."

I wonder for a moment. 'Wait,' I write on my own pad. 'How could that happen?'

"Oh, perhaps by blunt force trauma or a tumor. I don't think you have any sort of tumors growing..." He pauses to momentarily feel about my neck. "you also seem like an otherwise perfect little girl." He winks, and I roll my eyes. "Also, do you ever experience any shortness of breath or acute pain in your throat?"

I think about the past few months, and how I've been. 'Not frequently,' I scrawl,

"But it is, there, right?"

'Right.'

"That is one of the signs of a damaged exterior laryngeal nerve. That alone would cause hoarseness, but if your recurrent laryngeal nerve is damaged, you can permanently lose your voice. And as it pains me to say, I think that that is what has happened here. Of course, we won't know until I perform a laryngoscopy, which is where I examine the larynx."

I turn to my counselor, who turns to Nurse Yolanda. "I think that a laryngoscopy could be arranged," she finally says. "I think the school should be able to cover such a thing, especially if your parents made the optional insurance payments when you signed up." She turns to the other doctor, and asks, "How long do you think it will be until she regains full use of her voice?"

"I'm not sure at this point. It could be anywhere from a few weeks to a few years. She might also never get it back at all. I'll be able to provide a projected timeline after the exam."

I think for a moment, about how life has been so far. I think about how it might be if I never spoke again, and while thought doesn't scare, it does sadden me some. I might never get to tell anyone I love them ever again. Especially Milly.

'Doctor,' I jot, 'do you honestly think I'll ever speak again?'

He looks at me for a moment, and I expect the worse. "Personally, no. It's not that I don't want to get your hopes up, but from what I see, you simply have too much damage. Speaking of which, I need to know more about the earthquake. Do you feel comfortable discussing it at this time?"

By instinct, I look at the closest person to me there: Miss Locoer. For the past few months, we've really come closer. She knows me well. She... she's like a mother.

"What? I'm not your mom. You want to talk, you talk!" And she laughs, and I smile. I turn to the doctor and nod.

"Do you remember being hit in your neck during the earthquake?"

I shake my head.

"Did your neck hurt after you..." he rifles through Miss Locoer's notes. "After you woke up in the hospital?"

I nod.

"Did you hurt anywhere else?"

I think, then point to my left shoulder and side.

"After the rubble shifted, and Milly... died, did you fall in a compromising position? Meaning, do you remember falling on your right side? That's the side you hold your camera on, correct?"

I write, 'It is. I think I fell on my back, though. I usually keep the camera above me at all times to keep it from damage.'

"Ah, a true camerawoman." The doctor smiles, obviously remembering some distant memory. "Anyway, do you think that you may have hurt your neck at any time before the earthquake? Sometimes, previous trauma can be reintroduced."

I shake my head and start writing. 'Everything before the earthquake was just a big blur. all I remember is spilling hot coffee on myself in the cafeteria when Yumi accidentally bumped into me.'

"Interesting. Then I thin for sure that something must've hit you in the earthquake, and damaged your laryngeal nerves."

Nurse Yolanda finally said something. "Even though I'm not an expert on speech as you are, Dr. Samick, I have to agree. The facts add up that way, and I'm prepared to have miss Diop here sent in for an examination."

"Then it's set," finalizes Miss Locoer. "When is a good time?" She pulls out a pen and opens her notepad to a blank page.

"Is next week too sudden?" asks the speech specialist.

"I think it's too late," replies Nurse Yolanda.

"Then tomorrow?" asks the counselor. "I mean, if your schedule is free.

"I think tomorrow is fine. It's best to get this over with sooner rather than later, and let Miss Diop have some peace of mind."

"Good," says Miss Locoer, and she scrawls some things down in her fancy script. "She stands and offers Dr. Samick her hand.

"Oh, you women are so formal, he jokes, and gives her a hug instead. t was surprising for a man of his age, and I found myself in a hug as well.

"Ah, I think I'll settle for a handshake," says Nurse yolanda.

"Good enough for me," replies the doctor, and they shake hands, with what feels like an unspoken conversation buzzing through the air. and then, we see the doctor out, and I go to my dorm to get ready for tomorrow.


	5. Did You Think So?

As I sit here in this padded chair, I can only think of how hungry I am. Stupid, right? But seriously. The doctor said not to eat anything for at least a day, so I didn't. In fact, I fasted for two days, just to show how tough I am. Of course, I couldn't tell him that, so it was for nothing.

And now, with the doctor easing the seat back and preparing the flexible fiber-optic laryngoscope, we both can hear my stomach growling, and I try to fight off a grin.

"Are you ready?" Doctor Samick asks.

I nod.

"If you feel any pain or pressure, just raise your hand, okay?"

I nod again, and try to relax. It's a little difficult though; I have this thing with doctors and obsessively clean rooms. But I clear my mind, and think of Milly as the doctor sprays something tasteless onto the back of my throat.

"Don't worry, it's just a topical anaesthetic. Now, hold up one finger for cherry, two for daisies, three for apple, or four for roses."

With an expression of doubt, I hold up three fingers. The doctor sprays something into each of my nostrils, and instantly, I'm reminded of the apple orchard of one of the orphanages I lived in back in Reims. That place was where I first met Milly.

"That was to open up your nasal passages, so I can see everything a little clearer. Now, tell me, can you swallow?"

I try, but I can't tell if I can or not. I know I'm telling myself to swallow, but it feels... numb.

"Good. Now, I need you to relax as I begin." I nod, and the tube slowly slides down my throat. The doctor looks over my head at the screen, and carefully guides the tube until he sees what he's searching for. "Okay, I need you to try to make a dolphin squeal."

'Wait... what?' I mouth, an expression of what-the-heck smeared on my face.

"I need you to try and make the noise, I mean. Try to sound high-pitched."

I try, but apparently the doctor can tell otherwise... or does he?

"I see... Okay, now try to make a noise like a whale."

I assume he means deep, so I try to make my voice sound as low as possible, if it was there.

"I see..."

I'm tempted to shout out, "_What do you see?_" but I can't even if I tried.

"Okay, now try to speak. Assume you had your voice, and try to start a conversation with me, okay?"

'Okay,' I "speak". 'How's the weather today? Personally, I think that it's a little too sunny, but that's what I get for playing scary games all the time. Say, are you hungry? I'm _ravenous_... aren't you?" I pause to think of something else to say, but apparently that was enough.

"Thank you. I think I can make a proper conclusion now." He withdraws the tube as carefully as he inserted it, and I exhale softly. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until then, and I silently giggle at my unfounded fear. The doctor smiles, and removes his gloves. Off goes the monitor, and up goes the padded chair.

"The anaesthesia should wear off in a couple of hours. Until then, no eating or dinking, lest you choke. Your fast isn't over yet, missy," he says, and ruffles my hair softly. "I'll have my receptionist write you a school note, which likely isn't necessary, but will get you plenty of cold sweets for the next week. You know, to help you recuperate." He winks, and I'm instantly reminded of Miss Locoer.

I pull a pad from my backpack and strike, "Can I ask you: how long have you known Miss Locoer?"

He looks back to the past a bit. "I think... maybe about thirty years? We met in Versailles when she was sixteen. I'm forty-eight now, and she's actually older than me, so you can do the math, right?"

Wait, what math? Doctor Samick just said that Miss Locoer must be at least forty-eight now... does he want me to find out the year? That means they met between 1976 and 1977. In then it hits me. "FORTY-EIGHT??" I scribble, my eyes wide.

Doctor Samick laughs loudly. "She doesn't look like it at all, does she?"

I shake my head.

"Yep. She always looked a little on the young side." Doctor Samick looks out of his office window for a moment, obviously lost in thought. He snaps to attention, though, and smooths his coat.

'Oh, also. Do you think I'll be able to talk again? Be frank, please.' I scrawl.

"That's right, caught up in my memories I forgot to tell you. Honestly, Tamiya, I don't. Your vocal folds did not move at all. I don't think you'll ever regain their control, seeing as it has been a couple of months since... well, since Milly died. I'm sorry."

'No, I thought as much. Thank you for making sure, Doctor Samick.'

"It's always a pleasure to see a student from Kadic. I mean, not that it's good to see someone in distress, but... you know what I mean."

I nod, and head for the door.

"Oh, and tell Jim that I said 'Hi,' okay?"

I roll my eyes and nod. I wave at him, then close the door.

I'll never talk again, huh? I smile, take the note from Miss Tautou the receptionist, and wave goodbye.

Turning just in time so that the tears don't show, I leave the office. And... I'm not sad; I'm just a little upset. Still, even though she's dead, if I could speak, I'd speak to Milly. And knowing that I'll never speak, I only miss her more than ever. Who's going to tell her parents about all the good times we had together? Who's going to remind Mr. Benoit that Milly isn't coming back to his flower shop? Who's going to remind everyone of the compassion that she secretly felt from them?

As these tears fall, I only wish that I could tell them. I was closer to her than anyone. If I can't speak about her life... Who will?


	6. Dealing With Loss

Train tracks, midnight. It's on the news this morning, and I can't believe it.

Sandra had killed herself.

I mean, everyone knew that if there was anyone closer to Milly than I, it was Sandra Dialo, a shy girl in the next grade up. That girl basically idolized Milly, and although Milly thought it all something funny, I knew that Sandra was sincere. She was one step short of a stalker, always making sure that she was as normal as possible while taking note of Milly's every move. No, she was really more than a stalker. She got as close to Milly as possible, as often as possible.

Sandra always intrigued me. We spoke every now and then. Many times our conversation would turn to Milly, and I'd divulge all I could without feeling bad. Sometimes, though, we just talked, and grew a little closer. Those were some of the best conversations I've ever had in my life. She was simple a beautiful girl with a beautiful mind, and consequently, a beautiful outlook on life.

One day, I up and decided to visit her dorm once.

I'll never forget it.

I had asked at lunch if she wouldn't mind if I stopped by, just to talk. She said sure, and the five of us – Milly, Emily, Aelita, Sandra and I – continued our conversation as usual.

I knocked on Sandra's door a few hours later and smiled when she answered.

"Sorry about the mess," she had said. "I'm still sorting through the photos." She walked back to the other side of the room, opened the window, and a slight afternoon breeze wafted about. I closed the door and smiled as I looked around.

"Haha, I can tell." There were photos everywhere. On the wall, on the wardrobe, in the wardrobe, on the bed, on the floor – everywhere I turned, I saw Milly's face. Smiling, frowning, laughing, pouting – all of Milly. Across the long table she used as a desk, that completely took up one wall, were dozens, no, hundreds, of photographs – all of Milly. Milly eating lunch. Milly jogging. Milly drawing. Milly walking. Milly crying. Milly trying to play Odd's guitar. Milly drinking from the water fountain. Milly tying her shoes. Milly Milly Milly Milly--

All the shots of my best friend almost made me dizzy. I knew that Sandra had more photographs of Milly than Sissy had of herself – and that was saying something. It was almost too much to bear. Although Sandra and I were sort of friends, I still feared her more than anybody at Kadic. Something just seemed... wrong with her sometimes, basically rarely. But still, she always had my heart pounding whenever I saw her, and not in a good way.

But then again, she was Sandra. I was probably safer with her than anyone else. We clicked at times, but normally we just were... us. Sandra and I. Our friendship never really crossed my mind, but as thin as it was, it was actually pretty strong.

"This doesn't freak you out, does it?"

"No, no, I know you're a little..." I halted, waiting for the right word to come.

"Obsessed?" she supplied.

"Umm. Yes." I blushed at what felt like an insult.

Sandra laughed, her voice flat in the cluttered room. "I know. I just like Milly, that's all. Although, I get that less than you'd think." She shrugged sheepishly and turned to clear a spot on her bed. It was like she had just told me her favorite color was blue, or her mom had moved across the world. She was perfectly okay with herself.

So was I, surprisingly. I didn't have to tell myself, 'This is just Sandra. She's like that.' I had already realized that long before I came to her room.

I turned to the wardrobe, and looked at the wall it stood against. It was then that I saw just how obsessed Sandra was.

Imagine, if you can, a scrapbook. Pages are neatly organized, photos placed at appropriate spots, smiling faces and frowning faces, all perfectly poised. Got it? Good. Now, imagine that all the pages of the scrapbook were sliced out oh so neatly and hung on the wall. And then, with that clinical precision, imagine that all the photos are sandwich bags with something inside. That was an entire wall, save a wardrobe. Pencils. Pens. Rulers. Paper. Shoelaces. Pieces of cloth. Candy. Keyboard keys. A flattened plastic bottle. There were a host of other items, all meticulously arranged on that wall, even starting to spill out onto the ceiling and adjoining walls. And there, in the center, the iconic lock of hair that represented what one would call a stalker.

Virtually one of anything Milly had touched or possibly even breathed on was sealed in a Zip-Loc bag, taped to a card, and placed on the wall. It was then that I realized that Milly's obsession bordered on something too intense for comfort. I could have turned around and bolted from the room, shunning Sandra for the rest of my life. I could have raced to where I knew Milly would be at the tie, and told her, maybe brought her back and shown her.

I didn't. As scary as the wall of items may have been, I knew how much it meant to Sandra. She needed Milly, as weird as that sounds. They were linked, and Milly didn't even know it. Just by being there, in her room, I was adding to the threads that tied Sandra and Milly. I'm not kidding.

Whenever Milly got sick, Sandra got sick. If Milly changed her hair, Sandra changed hers as well. Whatever fashion Milly was rockin' that week, Sandra wore some variant of it. When Milly was bullied, Sandra beat the snot out of whoever laid eyes on was nothing she would stop at. Consider this, for instance. That one time when Milly caught pneumonia and everyone thought she wasn't going to make it, Sandra was at her bedside, her hands intertwined with the sleeping girl's. There was nothing between them, not even a facemask. Sandra was probably the most protective girl that Milly had ever known. And yet Milly had never realized that. Or, if she did, she didn't let on. It was as though Milly humored Sandra without realizing that Sandra was watching over her.

It was touching, in a sympathetic way. Gone were my feelings of insecurity. I knew that if Sandra was a boy, she'd be already engaged to Milly. She loved her that much.

On the bed were books. No, journals. I had seen some of them at various stages throughout the year, and knew what they were for. Pink was Milly's eating habits, green was her drinking habits, blue was her exercise habits... and then there were a few which I had never seen or never knew what were for. I turned back to the desk to wonder if there were any pictures of anyone besides Milly, but soon gave up.

Sandra was organized when she wanted to be. She quickly completely made the bed and stacked all the journals (and plastic sandwich bags?) away somewhere before I had turned away from the desk.

"Okay, so you wanted to talk? Take a lay." She patted the bed beside her, and I laid down, the thin sheets cool through my clothes.

"Yeah." I didn't know where to begin, though. I knew I had come to ask something, but being in the breezy, dim room had made me forget. Then, noticing all the photographs of Milly on the ceiling, I remembered. "What are you going to do when you come out of Kadic?"

"Photography!" she blurted in a heartbeat.

I pointed at the ceiling, the desk, the wardrobe, the walls. "I kinda sorta thought so."

"Teehee." She grinned and pulled out her camera. "Wanna see what I can do to you?" she asked.

I looked at all of the candid snapshots of Milly around me, and noticed a few that Milly had even posed for. They were all actually quite... stunning. "Okay. Shoot me."

That little photo session was pretty fun, I think. I have copies of all the photos (all 206 of them) on my computer. Roughly a third were me, a third were Sandra, and another third was both of us together.

We had a lot of fun together, but to know that she was gone, too... It's like a kick in the gut. I never considered myself close to her, but I think I actually was. After all, why does it hurt so much to know I'm never going to see her again?

It seems like I've been doing a lot of crying lately. So as I switch the channel to another news site, I silently hit the record button on my outdated VCR, and let the tears fall.

__________

Sorry for the late update. I've been busier than usual at deviantART, so I haven't tried to write lately. But, I think I've entered a slow period, so expect more updates to come! :D


	7. An Old Friend

Back from a lengthy break. I just forgot all about FanFiction. Yes. Forgot. That means I totally forgot about you, the reader. I'm sorry. I'm going to work towards a solid schedule now.

__________

I squeeze my eyes tighter and the world turns black. When I can't hold my lids shut anymore, I relax, and everything is calm and deep red. I lay here for a while, listening to the sounds of nature around me until my throat starts to hurt from holding the tears at bay. I can't cry now. I'm supposed to be strong. There's nothing to cry about, nothing to cry about. And now, as my face turns hot and wet, that deep red suddenly turns back to black, and I open my eyes.

"Hello, princess." Odd Della Robbia crouches over me, his shadow keeping me momentarily cool. He reaches into his satchel and asks, "Need a tissue?"

I nod, wondering how I'm going to get out of this mess. Odd was the last person I expected to see today. What was he doing on campus? I hadn't seen him since he graduated with the rest of his friends. Not only that, but for him to see me like this, all weak and miserable... it hurts.

As I blow my nose, Odd regards me curiously. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

I start to say something, but I feel like I'm grasping at straws since nothing ever comes out. Odd raises an eyebrow and I pull out my whiteboard and a marker. 'Reliving some old memories. Don't mind me,' I write.

"Don't mind you? Impossible." Odd sits next to me and my world is bright again. "What's up with the board?"

'Oh, aren't you tact.'

"What's 'tact'?"

I sigh and jot, 'Forget it. Why're you here, anyway? No offense.'

"Oh, I was just visiting and I heard you were feeling down, so I came looking for you."

I stare at him. 'Why?' I write.

"Why not? You're a friend of mine. Friends stick together. So, friend..." Odd leers at me. "Tell me what's really eating you." His stomach growls and I manage a smile.

'I was just remembering how Milly and I used to come here and hang out.'

"In the middle of the forest?" Odd's left eyebrow raises impossibly high.

'It's peaceful here.'

"So... why're you sad?"

'You didn't hear?'

Odd's other eyebrow raises. Now he just looks silly and I try not to laugh. 'Milly died.' I write.

He stares at me for a long time. So long, I feel my cheeks grow warm. "When?" he asks, seeming too solemn for the old Odd I knew.

'Two months, eleven days, five hours.' I erase the words to make room for more. 'I can't help but remember.' Odd nods sagely, and I shrug.

"So you're taking it pretty rough, yeah?"

'Understatement of the year.'

"What?"

I roll my eyes. 'You don't even know. I still miss her.'

Odd sighs. "Yeah, I wouldn't know. The people I've known are still alive. I can only guess at what you're going through." Odd looks at me sideways, and I get the feeling he means more then I think he means.

'I didn't mean to--" Odd stops my frenetic hand with his own.

"My fault, princess. I should've been a bit more caring."

I blink. 'What?' I mouth.

"Of course you're taking it rough. You two were like this," he holds up two fingers pressed together, "and now she's gone. I don't know why I said that. Sorry, okay?"

I'm not sure how to respond. This couldn't be Odd. He was never so thoughtful, as bad as that sounds. 'Thanks,' I write.

"Okay. So how's Kadic been? Is Rosa still making the best food on earth?"

'Rosa and everyone else are fine. Oh, and Sandra died, too.'

Odd's mouth drops open in shock. "What is this, an epidemic? What happened to her?"

'Suicide.'

Odd closes his mouth and drops back against the ground. "I see..."

I write, 'You know how Sandra loved Milly? Well, when Milly died, she didn't have a reason to live.'

Odd glances over at the whiteboard, his face neutral as ever. "Wow... I'd have never thought..." We lay in silence for a moment, thinking of those two girls. Well, I am, at least -- I can never be sure of what Odd's thinking.

'How's life out in the real world?' I write.

Odd sighs, and I wonder where he's getting all of that air. "It's surprisingly like life at Kadic. Wake up, go to work, come home, do more work. Rinse, and repeat." He runs his hands through his hair, and for the first time I notice it's cut short!

'YOU CUT YOUR HAIR OFF!!'

"Boss's orders. I think I like it, though. Less work in the morning, so I can sleep in a bit. I guess that hasn't changed, either."

'What has changed?'

"Well, I share an apartment with Ulrich, Yumi, Jeremy and Aelita now. It cuts the cost of living down while Ulrich and Yumi go through college."

'What about Jeremy and Aelita?'

"They tested out of all of their course classes. They claim they went only to get a paper degree. Oh, and they work at Ulrich and Yumi's college."

'And where do you work?'

"Everywhere and nowhere." He shrugs and smiles, and I learn that he's both a music producer and a DJ-for-hire. A lot of his clients' work is produced during the day, and at night he DJs at local clubs. Almost all of the time he partners up with Samantha, his girlfriend, and they mix for charity, as well. She's not really his boss, though, but likes to pretend she is.

It reminds me of Milly.

We talk for a little longer, and I start to hear the cicadas chirping. "There's my alarm," he says. "I've got to meet Sam in a few minutes."

'Tell her I said hello.'

"I will. Oh, by the way..." He pauses, and I start to fidget and wonder what he's about to say. "Why are you writing instead of talking?"

I smile awkwardly, and write, 'Remember that earthquake? The one that got Milly?' I wince as my hand starts to shake and the whiteboard starts to swim. 'I...' I write an ellipsis as I pause. 'I was hit in the neck by something and lost my voice.' I erase. 'Unrelated to her death, but I think that even if it wasn't because of the,' I erase, 'earthquake, I'd have lost it for a while anyway. I still...' I try to blink back tears, but I just realize how weak I must look. How pathetic in front of Odd. I don't even bother with an ellipsis as I try to write. I put the marker to the board, but my throat catches, and I look up briefly to see Odd's pained, understanding expression, and it's too much to bear.

I cry, feeling weak and hopeless. I'm supposed to be stronger than this. Stronger.

Odd takes the board from me and sets it gingerly on the ground. And before I can object, he grabs my shoulders, looks me in the eyes, and pulls me into a hug. I fight at first, but his grip is like iron fetters. How is such a scrawny boy so strong?

"Shhh. It's okay." I reach out a hand for the marker to write 'It's not okay', but he stops me. "It hurts to lose someone close to you. Have you ever heard the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, kiddo?"

I shake my head.

"It goes like this. 'Once upon a time, there was a girl who took a walk in the forest. She stumbled across a quaint little house set in a clearing. Famished as she was, she ventured inside, like a young RPG player, to see if the owners would give her anything to eat.

"Inside were three bowls of spaghetti. I'm talking humongous. Ginormous. Almost as big as your head. They all looked so appetizing, and 'Hmm', the young girl reasoned to herself, 'these must've been set here for me. So the girl sat down, her mouth salivating at the prospect of spaghetti, and dug in to the first bowl. But she immediately threw down her fork and forced herself to swallow the spaghetti down, not even pausing to chew! This spaghetti was much too cold.

"So, the girl tried the next bowl. Oh no! Must the heavens sneer at her yet again? There was no way that she could pick up the fork, let alone eat the spaghetti! The bowl was hot to the touch, and she could tell from the steadily rising steam that it was too hot to eat. So she sighed and hoped the last bowl would be what she wanted."

'That's not how I remember the story.'

"I thought you never heard of it?"

'I thought I didn't, but I remember now. Wasn't there oatmeal?'

"No. Spaghetti."

'But I--' Odd grabs my marker.

"Spaghetti." I sigh, and he grins. "So she tried the last bowl, and immediately she was back at her grandmother's house, eating nice, warm spaghetti in front of the radio. No, television.

"And then! This bear crawls into the front door, and Goldilocks spins around, noodles and sauce splattering her cheeks. The bear looks for a tick, then growls slightly, and Goldilocks freaks out and screams, itty bitty bits of spaghetti flying through the air like Shrek incarnate.

"And then! The bear roars like a freaking mountain lion and attacks poor Goldilocks, her golden locks whipping to and fro as the bear's teeth sink into her soft, tender flesh. The rends her body in two, the organs flying every which way, her bones groaning in protest as the bear devours the girl!

"And then! The other two bears, Papa Bear and Mama Bear, rush in and join the fray! Their bodies moving erratically and mechanically as the walls close in on the girl's life!

"AND THEN!!"

I grab Odd's arm and clamp a hand over his mouth. "STOP." I mouth, shaking to death from laughter and terror. This story is not Goldilocks, this is a horror manifesto on acid in a blender. I'm laughing openly, soundlessly, and Odd is breathing heavily as if he's run a long marathon, nervous sweat gathering in his palms.

'Hush, Odd,' I write, 'calm down.' I don't want to laugh at the poor boy, but something about his gripping account curls inside me and I can't help but be more than slightly amused.

Odd's breathing slows and we both calm down, grinning like loons. 'I haven't laughed like this in a while.'

"Good. Laughter is good for you."

'And where did you hear that?'

"Internet." Odd grins again, and I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Odd looks at his watch. "Oh man, I am so dead."

I glare at him. 'Hurry up! Your partner's waiting.' And then, I add, 'Sorry.'

"For what? It's not your fault I'm late. It's mine. I wanted to cheer you up, so there you go. Don't get all mopey again because of my decisions."

'I'm not!' I protest.

"You'd better not be, kiddo." Odd ruffles my hair and winks, and I roll my eyes

'I'm not that young.'

"Oh, how I wish you were," he insists and I crack up laughing and pull us both to our feet. I hug him tightly then, wishing this moment won't end. Me, him, the forest, his alarm from his watch pulsing silently against my back. The world silent, our bodies this close, the wind gently wafting against our skin.

But all dreams end, and in a minute, I break our embrace. What a gentleman. Holding out for me.

"See you, kiddo."

I wave back, and as quickly as he came, he's gone.

Thanks, Odd. I needed that.


	8. Nightmares

Finished my fourth album. (http:/ www. mediafire .com/ ?gnzg5llkfbu No spaces!) Time for some fan fiction.

* * *

Cold hands shake me awake and I look around, disoriented. People are watching me, young people, their faces painted with mixtures of smiles and the occasional frown. So many faces. So many lives. So many students here to be taught.

"Wake up, Miss Diop." Mrs. Hertz keeps her intense, hawk-like gaze on me, and I yawn noiselessly and stare back at her.

'Sorry,' I mouth.

"Good. Now get your sleep in your room and get your education here."

I lean on my arm, the world slanted horribly to the right. All of the faces say goodbye and turn ahead to the whiteboard, and now twenty shades of red, blond, and brown greet me.

Hello, students. Keep paying attention as I try not to go catatonic in the last row. It's not that the class is boring; I just haven't been sleeping much lately. Without another body keeping me company, I start to dream ever more vividly. Good thing, isn't it? It's not. Not when I have nightmares. Night is nothing to be welcomed anymore.

The last time I slept for more than a couple of hours, I had this frighteningly realistic one. I was standing in a room while an impossibly tall figure berated me. Insults, curses, words of crushing weight rained down on me from above, like hail. I could feel the intense heat of this person's anger blistering my skin, but I couldn't move away. I didn't feel physically restrained. I just couldn't move for some reason.

Sheer breakdown of spirit must have been what he was aiming for. His words were a torrent of arrows, all piercing my paper skin, and there was nobody around to lend me the emotional tape I needed to patch myself up. All the while, I could feel nothing but emptiness surrounding me and filling me.

And all the while, my eyes were glued to the mask he wore. Smooth, white, and clear as summer rain. Twin vulpine eyes, softly crafted lips, and the most heroic nose if there ever was one. It was so beautiful, so tender, so stoic. I wanted that mask, to wear it as he did. I wanted to have the power and conviction needed to rain insults of my own upon one who deserved them as I did. I craved that for myself, and my heart ached from both that longing and the pain of having my shell stripped away and my naked flesh scrubbed raw with the words of hate.

I willed him to take it off. Show me the face the mask hides, I thought. Show me who you are.

And surprisingly, he quit shouting for a moment and took a deep, ragged breath. I could hear the quiver in his voice as he replied, "Of course, you plucky witch." And when he pulled off the mask, I screamed.

He had no mouth.

It was then that I awoke, sweating and screaming, my sheets feeling like restraints against my scared skin. I screamed, but I screamed even harder when I realized that no one could hear me scream. This wasn't even space, it was my dormitory, and it should have been the safest place in the world for me.

But in those few waking moments, it was torture. Imagine screaming for help, for a hand, for someone to reach out and grasp your pain and carry it with you... but there's no one around to hear your invisible voice.

It's at those times that I cry. It's at these times that I wish for someone to help me even further than Miss Locoer, to pull me to safety and lend me a voice where I have none.

Maybe one day. But as I sit here in Mrs. Hertz's classroom, watching the clock tick oh so slowly by, I think about my night terrors, and wonder if they'll ever cease.

After the bell rings, and I rise to my feet, I see Mrs. Hertz motion me towards her. I stifle a yawn, and begin the mile-long trek to the oasis of knowledge - Mrs. Hertz desk. 'Yes?' I write on my portable white board.

"I'm concerned, Tamiya. Have you been sleeping much lately?"

Well, she's direct, I give her that. 'No,' I write. 'Is it obvious?'

"Very much so. Tamiya, if you're in my class, you need to stay awake. And for that, you need a good night's rest. Do you know why you aren't sleeping?"

I write, 'Night terrors.'

"Please relate them to me. I'll give you a pass to your next class."

I go to her computer and pull up a simple word editor - I type faster than I write. I take a breath, and then type about my recent nightmares. The mouthless shouter. The boy who won't stop smiling. The little girl who thinks so highly of me. The teacher who literally crams knowledge painfully into my body.

And then there's one that really gets me. I'm holding a conversation with Milly. It's fertile, and so full of possibilities that my heart hurts. In my hands I hold our future together, twined together like a label and a bulb of an herb. So many things we're speaking about.

But then, her words grow more and more faint. I move closer than we already are to hear her better, but her words continue to dwindle. I'm straining now, tuning all of my hearing to her dying breath, wishing I could hear her better.

And the whole time, Milly continues to giggle and speak without a care in the world, as if her voice is fully present, and she can tell me everything. But I can see that Milly is silent. I can see that Milly can't speak anymore, even when Milly herself doesn't recognize that little fact. And for some reason, this dream is the scariest of all.

I'm not the muted one. Milly is.

I feel one hand on my shoulder and one on my flitting hands. I look up to see Mrs. Hertz's eyes full of sympathy. Her normally cold, gray eyes look so warm and supportive. She holds out a box of tissues, and I realize then that I've been crying.

How weak can I get? First in front of Odd, and now Mrs. Hertz? Pretty soon, I'm going to be hired as a gardener.

I wipe my face, drying my tears, and I feel a lump rise in my throat, foreign and sore. Why now? Why so weak? I sniff and sneeze, sending who knows what into the white little flower I hold in my hands. Mrs. Hertz stands by my side, hugging me close. I try to stop the tears, but they keep flowing. So much fluid. So much.

It's a struggle not to make the connection, but it finally clicks, and I feel like I'm crying Milly's blood. I can see the scene all over again, the sudden shift of rock, the blood seeping from her buried body, her last expression one of confusion and the edges of shock.

I feel my chest cave inward and choke out sobs, suddenly too sick to continue typing. Through my hot, blurry eyes, the monitor looks like an object of derision. So bright, so white, so marred by the typeface of my anguished words. Why must everything that's touched by me be scarred by my hands?

I think about my silent breaths and my embarrassed tears and finally find the drive to slow them. The tissue I was holding, a soggy mess, is replaced my a fresh one, and I hold it to my eyes like a sponge while my crying slows. The faucet is being closed. The world is returning to clarity. God's in His heaven; all's right with the world, right?

I'm no Pippa, really. But even I feel sad at times.

"Better?"

I nod. Strangely, I feel a lot better.

"Good. It's always nice to have a good cry. I didn't mean to make you cry so hardly, mind you, so I'm sorry for that. Thank you for obliging an old woman, however. I hope I helped." She smiles warmly and I wonder at this teacher. Tough love? Maybe. But I do feel better, so...

I smile and am about to close the document when Mrs. Hertz stops me. "No, I think I want to read this again. I'm sure Miss Locoer wants to, as well. Is it okay if I send it to her?"

Again, I nod.

"Good." She saves the document, and within a moment, Miss Locoer has a copy sent her way. "Now, do you want to talk about anything further?"

I shake my head. I really want to go get some sleep, and study hall next period with Jim is the perfect time for that.

"Okay, then. Say hello to Jim for me, and get some sleep, young woman." Mrs. Hertz pinches my ear good-naturedly, and I grin.

And soon, I'm in the library, drifting off to thoughts of Milly.


	9. Evident Arrogance

Okay, readers, I need a character for Tamiya to fall in love with. Pick someone near her age, please, from the show. (This takes place about a year after the gang leaves Kadic, so Tamiya should now be in seventh grade. Maybe Nicholas grew up some?

* * *

I remember falling quite vividly. Last year, in seventh grade, Jim taught us how to climb a mountain with bylines and belays and a steady three-point contact and all of those other hiking terms that I'll never need. I happened to be one of the ones that climbed to the top.

Unfortunately, I never did again.

Falling is an awful feeling. It might seem fun to fly like a bird, carefree, with nobody to stop you and tell you to slow down. That feeling is fun. But when you stop soaring and gravity starts to reclaim you, the feeling of flying becomes a sinking pit that grips your heart and pulls it into your stomach. Up becomes down, the wind blows from below, and it feels like you will be nothing but a puddle of blood and bones on the tiny world below.

But if you've been safe, the lines catch you, and you get that jerk that lets you know that your death is not imminent. A bruise is fine, but at least my body isn't down there, leaking precious life...

"In space, nobody can hear you scream," says a voice. I look up to see Mr. Klotz, the school psychologist, looking expectantly at me. I reach for my bag to pull out my familiar dry-erase board when he halts my movements. "No, I don't want you to say anything just yet. Just hear me out for a bit."

I make it a point to stare; something about this man bothers me. Of all of the staff at Kadic, he is probably the one member I avoid. He tugs at his collar and continues.

"See, Tamiya, the staff here is a bit concerned about you, understandably. We think that your inability to speak might lead you to try to use other outlets for your pain. Maybe you'll finally start writing for the school paper, I don't know. But don't do anything rash, okay?"  
I nod. What does he want from me? First space, and now the school paper?

My puzzlement must be smeared on my face, because he continues, "Not that we think you'll do anything rash, of course. We just want to ensure your safety and that of others." He frowns. "That's not what I wanted to say. We just want what's best for you, really. No, what we feel is best."

I pull out my board anyway and scribble, 'For a psychologist, you're awfully bad at communicating your feelings.'

Mr. Klotz's expression changes, and I suddenly feel very cold. "I am," he says. "Sadly, I am. Do you want to know why?"

I'm not sure. Something about his demeanor tells me that if I stay, I'll only end up getting hurt. I nod anyway and try to shake oFf the frost in the air.

"You witness a 13-car pileup from the relative safety of an office window. You can't even shout. You could do nothing. Those people all just died. If you shouted, they wouldn't have heard you. What good is a voice if it isn't going to save anyone? Why think about heroics and bravery and valor when you are a little boy, visiting your mother at work, and nothing you do matters?

"But your friend saw, and she picked up a phone and dialed the operator. What did you do, voiceless little boy? What could you do? No, she is the hero. She had the courage, the sheer strength to make a phone call and get the proper authorities on the scene. She had the knowledge, the will, the urge to do something.

"And you stared. And cried silent tears. And didn't say a word. You were unable to say anything, both literally, and figuratively. Who are you to wish for a girlfriend, to wish for someone to hold, when you are incapable of saving anyone? Who are you to think about life and how grand it can be, even when you can't talk about it, when the families of thirteen people, maybe even twice that number, are forever changed?"  
I stare at the psychologist, who simply shrugs. "Are you crying yet?" I shake my head, another silent gesture. "Good. Let me relate more of my childhood.

"Once upon a time, in Reims, my mother decided to take the family on a boating trip. You know where this is going, right? Wrong? Okay. Well, we were all packed in the car like little sardines, when a low noise filtered through the air. Grating. Monotone. Almost like masticating on gravel while someone crams sand in your ears. You know what that was? It was in air-raid siren. Now, you, growing up in these times, have probably never heard one. I pray, honestly, that you never will. But that sound haunts you forever, and even when you recall it, it chills you to the bone. Do you see the depths I sink to for my students, recalling these fated sounds?"

Again, a silent shake of the head. Then a nod, a confirmation.

"Okay. Good. Now, this noise, this siren, means a variety of things. A natural disaster, or a tragedy. But on most days, it means one cruel event. A bombing. See, we were at war with some silly country over some silly issue that didn't really invol.;pve us silly citizens. But the brass in their high-backed leather chairs thought it did, so we were the ones to die alongside the soldiers, you see. Die we would, they thought, and continued pouring their wine.

"Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. So, the sirens went off, and I almost wet my pants. Not another bombing. Please be a tornado, we thought. Please, something we can live through. But no, as the sound of the siren was gently overshadowed by an even lower buzz, we recoiled in terror, abandoned our vehicle, and bolted for the nearest shelter.

"Coming in from the east was a whole slew of planes. I don't know what you would call a subsection of the army of that size, but it was enough. The sky was a pretty pink, almost ethereally so, but soon the sky turned black with rounds of ammunition falling like flower petals and shells of deadly candy dropping like flies.

"So you see where I'm going with this?" I shake my head. What was this man up to? I should just stand up and leave right now. "I'm telling you how I got over my phobia of speaking." Oh. You have a pretty interesting way of going about that.

"As the bombs fell, I ran with my parents, my sister, and my nephew, to a wine cellar down the road. But whether it was chance, fate, or something worse, I'm not sure. My nephew fell. The poor boy was only seven, and was unused to the rigor of war. I freaked, and ran back to save him. As he cried from the minor scrape on his knee, I gathered him onto my back, strength flowing through me from the adrenaline, and kept heading to the cellar.

"And then, in front of my eyes, the cellar doors closed. I was literally speechless. I kept running, dropped my nephew alongside me on the too-bright green grass, and pounded with all of my might on the doors.

"There was no answer. I wanted to shout, to call for help, but inside my heart, I knew they couldn't hear me over that menacing drone of bombers. I turned back to look at the sky, surprised by the sudden descent of the sun, and realized that the sun hadn't set - the bombs had. Across the horizon, dirt and smoke and water and who knows what flashed forth from the Earth. Whistles and booms clashed in an unearthly symphony of chaos, and I was powerless to drown out the noise. I watched, alongside my suddenly quieted nephew, as the wall of explosions moved ever closer. I wanted to scream, I really did, and ask anyone who was to blame for this madness. Who could I turn to? My family had abandoned us to the outside. Who could I pray to? Surely God had ignored us. Where could I make my voice known?

"And then, the cold horror chilled me in the growing heat. My voice. It was gone. I tried to squeak out something, anything, to comfort my nephew. But what could I say? How could I comfort anyone with my heart raging in its own fear? I felt like nothing, just a cherry waiting to be blown into oblivion, my red blood blossoming out over the plains.

"My nephew crawled to me, looking for support. I grabbed him and held hum close, wishing for the words to tell him, with the world mocking my lies, that it'd be okay, that we'd survive this. You cannot imagine how it felt to wish that things would turn up, that my moving lips would say something over the noise of the advancing fires.

"But there was nothing. And as the bombs started to trickle, and the rounds missed us and gradually let up, I felt a crown of relief placed upon my head.

"We would make it. I didn't have to say anything. Out family would open the cellar doors in a few minutes, with the raid over, and search for us, and comfort us, and tell us how they would have expected us to do the same for them, to lock them out, to expect their survival, to keep each other safe with words of love and adoration and hope and courage and all the pretty little things that would let us all sleep another night.  
"But no. The world gained a bit of its sanity back, and I sighed. True, we weren't going to die, but something much worse would happen. You see, Tamiya, natural gas is a precious resource, right?"

It took me a moment to realize he had asked a non-hypothetical question, and I nod. "But too much of anything is a bad thing. My family, the callous, cold-hearted mortals, had locked themselves in the cellar. They were that afraid of the warfare staring them in the face. But they hadn't known that old man Rouge hadn't fixed that gas leak. They all died. Suffocation. So now, it was just myself and my nephew, all alone in this harsh world. We had to pick up the pieces and start anew. But you know what's horrible? I still couldn't speak at that point."I thought that the shock of my entire family dying would bring my voice back, as the look of death had taken it away. How naive I was! No, it only reinforced my belief that I was a mute, and that I was weak. So weak. If only I had knocked harder, I thought. If only they had opened those accursed doors!

"How truly idiotic to believe in such things as compassion, of happiness. This war gave us two options - die, or not die. That was it. My family chose not to die, at the cost of their young, and ironically, they ended up dying. We resigned ourselves to dying, for a brief moment, and we lived. How cruel the sisters of fate are. And aside from all that, I also-

"Hey.

"Quit crying, kiddo.

"No, I didn't mean to make you cry that much- Oh, come on. Lighten up. It's just a story, okay? It's over with."

It is definitely not okay. My psychologist isn't even done relating the story of his childhood, and I am already overflowing with tears. War? Friendship? Family? Love? I am a maelstrom of uncertainty, and I had no idea where to go next.

"Tamiya, listen to me. I only told you that story to get you to cry, yes. But I also told it with the hopes of making you sob. Do you know what a sob is?"

Wait. What? It all falls into place, all at once, and I finally see why I don't like this man. I glare at him, my eyes itchy and hot. Furiously, I scribble, 'Of course, Hans, it's what I'm doing AT THIS VERY MOMENT!"

He sighed. "No, you are crying. A sob is a result of your crying, hiccups, and your vocal cords. If you were sobbing, I'd hear a pitch. I don't hear a pitch yet, you see. I need you to really cry, to really sob, so that I can make sure your voice is all the- wait, what are you writing...?"

Again, what? As a faculty member, he of all should know about me. I am suddenly overflowing with hurt and fury, and despite my size, I am going to chew this man out.

'Mr. Klotz,' I calmly and slowly write in my purest cursive. 'The doctor already confirmed that my lack of a voice is medical, not psychological. He has also shown me, through a scientific process, that I am unable to regain my speaking ability.'

I erase.

'For you to know that, and then single-handedly attempt to get me to EVEN SOB shows a DIRECT lack of professionalism on your part, and annoys me to my very core and makes me question you humility.

I erase again.

'I honestly thought that you were telling me a story for some twisted entertainment value, but I see now that you are so arrogant that YOUR methods must be the right ones, no matter the cost of your subject.'

Erasing once more.

'Forget this ever happened. This conversation is over. The next time you need a fountain to prove your point, turn on someone else. I am not your plaything simply because I cannot speak.

Erasing one last time...

'Your story is false, anyway. France was never at war with Poland. Screw you, and have a nice day.' I turn the board back to me, feeling a sense of inner justice to accompany my inner pain. Mr. Klotz stares at me, his jaw slightly open, his eyes wide. I can't tell if he's playing or not, but I honestly don't care enough to find out. I gather my things into my bag, and head towards the library doors.

What am I going to do with myself?


	10. SD Cards

Hello, all. I'm back again, and serious; I've rediscovered my muse, you see.

* * *

It's Saturday, and I'm back in Ms. Locoer's office.

'Are you still sick?' I write.

"No, I'm feeling much better." Ms. Locoer sighs and pulls a lock of hair out of her face. "I think it was just a case of the flu. People usually get sick more during the colder months, you know."

'So... did you hear about Klotz?" I write, tentatively showing Ms. Locoer the board.

Ms. Locoer nods her head sadly. "Klotz will be reprimanded," she says. I roll my eyes in disbelief. "No, honestly; he acted without departmental approval and will face the consequences of his actions." Ms. Locoer snaps open a can of cola and continues. "I didn't approve. In fact, I told him that if he came anywhere near you I'd have him strung up. Of course, he acted anyway; typical Klotz for you."

'If that's typical Klotz, why don't you fire him?' I scribble.

"He's the only one in his field who will work here."

I think for a moment. 'What about you? Kadic doesn't need two psychiatrists.'

"I haven't thought about that," replies Ms. Locoer. "Of course, I haven't needed to, and that's something that isn't exactly in my best interests to bring up. I have a secure position here; why jeopardize that?"

I'm not sure how to answer that. 'I don't know,' I write.

"Then we've agreed on something." The woman smiles and pops the tab on a can of cola, the sound loud in her small office.

'So, now what?' I ask.

"Now what, what?"

'What do I do now that I know I'm not going to get better?'

"You could've written that more concisely. But, honestly, I suggest that you let life move on. As you said yourself, there isn't a point in wallowing in self-pity. Cheer up and break a leg." Ms. Locoer takes a large gulp and grimaces as the carbonated sugar slides down her throat. "Figuratively speaking, that is."

'Why do you drink soda if it hurts?'

"What is this, Lucky Star?" Ms. Locoer continues. "Every now and then, it's fun. It's not that bad, and by enjoying it occasionally, it tastes even better."

I sigh and write, 'Whenever I see you, you're drinking.'

Ms. Locoer frowns. "I don't know," she echoes. "Anyway, is there anything that you want to talk about? I am a psychologist, you know, and a certified counselor. Didn't you see the papers on the wall?"

'I saw.' I erase. 'I just don't know what to talk about. I feel okay, I guess.' I shrug and erase again. 'I mean, school is fine.'

Ms. Locoer frowns again. "What do you do in your leisure time?"

'Read.'

"How's that coming?"

I laugh silently. 'What do you mean? It's like riding a bike, right?'

"Well, maybe you come across words that you don't know how to pronounce, or words that don't have a meaning for you yet."

'Context clues.'

"Oh. Well, do you ever feel a little down when you come across words like those?"

'I used to, but I now know that no matter what, I won't know every word.' I erase. 'So if I can't get the meaning, I just look it up.' I erase again and my hand looks even bluer from the ink. 'What does have to do with counseling?'

"Hey, why don't you work with me here?" Ms. Locoer shrugs. "I'm just trying to keep you happy; that's all."

'Sorry.' I show her the board quickly and erase it. 'I don't mean to annoy you.'

Ms. Locoer's face screws up. "What? Annoy me? Listen, girl, there is no way that your presence here could ever annoy me. Besides being your counselor, which could be reason enough, I actually like having you as one of my charges. You're actually a good kid, and as far as I'm concerned, you really outshine the rest. Remember that." She downs the rest of the can. "Besides, you keep me happy."

'I do?'

"Of course. Whenever I feel down, and, you know, that does happen, I look forward to seeing you smile when you walk through my door. I think, and don't take offense at this, that my problems are nothing compared to what you have to contend with. I still have my voice, and so I could speak to you at length with what's on my plate. You, however, do not have that luxury. And yet, you're normally very bright."

I'm really unsure of how to respond to this. I'm not used to taking compliments. Milly was always the one in front of the camera, so I'd normally hear the excitement, not feel it. Maybe they'd say something about how my hands weren't shaky during that episode, but there wasn't the same enthusiasm. For someone, especially someone much wiser than I, to compliment me feels like the highest honor.

'Thanks.' What else can I write?

As if seeing my inability to shape my simple thoughts into eloquent writing, Ms. Locoer stops me: "That's enough. We can't have you filling up that pretty little head of yours with hot air, now, can we?" We both laugh, and Ms. Locoer clears her throat. "Is there anything else that you'd like to discuss today, or would you rather go and relax?"

'Relax," I scribble hastily.

"Good, good. I'll see you again tomorrow." Ms. Locoer waves her fingers at me as I pull the door shut behind me.

Out in the hall of the HQ, I can hear a vacuum buzz behind one of the closed doors. The lobby smells like cinnamon, no doubt due to the Headmaster's latest hobby – scent. Every time that I visit Ms. Locoer, I can smell something different. Last Friday, when I first met Ms. Locoer, I smelled apples. The following Saturday, when I received my wonderful prescription for ice cream, I smelled freshly baked cookies. On Sunday, before I left for the doctor's office, it was roses. On Monday, when I had the laryngoscopy, the smell fit the tense mood that accompanies most Mondays – rain. Ms. Locoer was sick on Tuesday, but while I read the note on her door, I thought for sure I was in a field of sunflowers.

That was the same day that Sandra committed suicide.

Wednesday held the scent of cherries which surrounded me as I read another note that related that Ms. Locoer was still sick. Thursday, the day I met Odd again, had another note that said Ms. Locoer would be out until Friday, and another scent of roses. I think that's the Headmaster's favorite scent so far. And finally, on Friday, I didn't visit Ms. Locoer. I met Dr. Klotz instead. Unlike the previous days, that time was one that I could happily forget.

And now, it's Saturday, and I'm free once again. I walk to a vending machine for a can of cola, then to my dorm where I notice a package left outside of my door with a note attached. I grab it, walk inside, sit on my bed, and open the letter.

It begins with standard condolences, then shifts gears into an explanation of what's in the box. Apparently, my camera was recovered with our bodies when we were located. The police were holding it for investigative purposes, but I could have it back now. Alongside the camera was a small bag and a carefully wrapped SD card. Now, while explaining the SD card, the letter feels very light in my hands. This card holds, not only footage from the week preceding the earthquake, but footage of the earthquake itself.

I then realize that the bag in the box was my formerly missing stealth bag – the bag I use for candid interviews and shots. There's a hole cut in the front pocket which allows the camera to film as I walk and talk. Apparently, I had left the camera rolling when Milly conducted an interview with Jim, the PE coach, and I had forgotten to turn it off.

Then, the gravity of what sat beside me pulls my lungs into my gut. Everything from that day is recorded onto that tiny plastic card. Not only the interview, but the events of the day, the last moments I had with Milly and the moments after she was crushed and I blacked out. All of them.

I never thought I would see the camera again, let alone the SD card. I never thought of the card and what it held. I hadn't realized that I had used my stealth bag that day, so I was looking frantically for that, since my card wallet was contained within. In that wallet were most of the cards that I had used, since I first got the camera back when I was nine. So many things I missed, and so many things that I hadn't worried about were now in my grasp.

Remembering that I needed to breathe, I snap back to the letter and continue reading. The camera wasn't damaged in the quake. That is good. Everything is as discovered, and there is also a surprise in the box. The letter finishes with a note of gratitude for my patience and some contact information for the person who made sure my belongings returned to me at the police station.

My heart pounds in my chest as I slowly look back to the camera bag, camera, and card. Should I really look at what happened during the earthquake? Am I prepared to relive those terrible events all over again?

I pick up the camera and card, holding each object in each hand. They both feel too light to be real, but I know they're mine and I'm simply a little lightheaded from the revelation. Glancing between the two, I think I should have someone else watch the video with me. Someone who was as close to Milly as I was... no. The people who were as close to her as I was.

Exhaling, I set the camera down and rummage through my bag for my phone. I only have two numbers to dial: Aelita Stones and Hiroki Ishiyama. The familiar ring of the first number sounds too loud in my ears. It rings twice, and then a connection is made.

"Milly? Is that you?"

'Aelita? I need you to come over,' I mouth, before realizing that I can't speak. I quickly move to my computer, jiggle the mouse, and type into the web browser "Morse code." I know Aelita knows it, even if I don't.

Well, I have a reason to learn now.

"Milly? Is something wrong?"

I find a page, scan it, then start tapping my earlier phrase into the receiver with a fingernail, along with another message: "Bring Hiroki, too."

When I finish, there's a bit of silence. "I'm on way," I hear, and I exhale. "But next time, you know that you can text me, right?"

Feeling like such an idiot, I tap furiously on the receiver and hang up. I move to one of my cabinets and start pulling out familiar cables to hook up the camera to my TV. They're dusty now. It's been so long since I've needed to use them, and I know it's just the dust that's making my eyes water. Only the dust? Maybe a bit of nostalgia, too. Usually, there are two more hands helping me. Usuing only my own feels so strange.

Everything is connected, so I sit back on my bed and wait.

Relaxation, said Ms. Locoer? I don't think so. Not yet, at least.

* * *

So. Yeah.


	11. Crushed

It must be a strange sight – three teens huddling in blankets while sitting on a duvet, with the glow of the television washing over us in flickering, changing colors. We're all crying at the images.

We decide to watch the clips in chronological order, starting from the beginning of the day to the time of her death. To watch all of the videos would have taken too long, so we also decided that, if time permit, and if we were feeling up to it, we would watch the other clips in reverse. We had mountains of images, all of Milly and her various interactions.

If she had any parents, they would be overjoyed.

I hit the wall switch and clamber back into our fluffy dwelling. I'm sandwiched between Hiroki and Aelita, and I feel both the best and the worst I've ever felt.

I hit play, and the interview starts.

"Hello, Mr. Jim Morales. Is it okay if we call you Jim?"

"What kind of question is that?" the burly man asks.

"Just something preliminary, to break the tension," Milly replies.

"Preliminary? Where'd you girls hear a big word like that?"

"Off the record, Jim, we aren't in kindergarten anymore. And remember, you agreed to let us interview you, right?"

Jim grumbles something about workers' rights.

"Okay. Now, back on subject, what jobs have you held prior to being the PE coach, hm?"

Jim is silent.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"So what jobs have you held?" Milly repeats.

"What jobs?"

"Right."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you said." Jim remains silent.

Milly casts an aside glance at the camera. "Err, okay, next question." Milly flipped her card with one hand, a skill I used to tease her about. "Seeing as you've had so many different career experiences, at Kadic, what's your favorite role?"

"I enjoy being a PE Coach. More than that, I like to teach the children more than physical education and wellness. Often, I give them little life lessons. Brush your teeth after breakfast. Shampoo your hair only once. Tear into the jugular, not the femoral. You know, things like that."

Milly was obviously out of her element. She was used to people making sound arguments, not acting so... odd. Speaking of odd, I can remember my thoughts at that moment. I felt a bit like Milly, a little bewildered, but I was also thinking that, out of the two of us, she was definitely the one with the camera face. Throughout the ordeal of the interview, she never once let her boredom show, or gave Jim any reason to be bored himself. After the initial shock that accompanies any meeting with Jim, she slipped into her natural, charismatic self, cracking jokes with the coach and making him slowly open up.

"Well, thank you for that interview, Jim."

"No, thank you, Suzanne. Err, Milly." Milly raised an eyebrow "See, you remind me a lot of Mrs. Hertz."

"I? And her" Milly cast another aside glance at the camera, a mixture of fear, confusion and disgust. I started laughing silently then, and the picture vibrated softly.

"Sorry, Milly. I didn't mean to offend you. So, I think I'll be going then."

"No, I'm not offended!" Milly laughed. "Thanks again, Jim!" She waved to the camera, and Jim did as well. As he turned on his heel and stalked away, Milly stayed a little too silent... and then once he was out of sight, she cracked up laughing and nearly fell over. "Holy crap, Tamiya, when was the last time that we had such a weird interview?"

"Wasn't it that time with Odd?"

All three of us jump at the sound of my voice. I felt a bit of momentary confusion, as I hadn't spoken in a while; I had forgotten what I sounded like. Aelita and Hiroki didn't know who spoke, either, so their surprise was just as genuine. It was odd, the sound, bubbling forth from the computer speakers.

I sounded well enough. Unlike Milly, my voice was a little uneven, but I chalked that up to the simple feel of nerves at the interview. Milly definitely had a higher pitch, but I usually sounded more even and straightforward. Although Milly could dance around an issue with that floating voice of hers, I had nowhere near that ability. I held my own on camera, true enough. There was a reason that Milly held so much more command, however. She simply sounded good, all of the time.

It was amazing to hear our voices again, after so much time. I felt Aelita squeeze my hand, and Hiroki's breathing quickened; he coughed to cover it up, but I nudged him in the ribs and he grinned.

He was still in love with her, in some ways. He hadn't sought a new girlfriend, like a few guys I knew would do. He remembered her, instead, and let his memories of the time he shared with her become his reminders. It may seem sad, that this little boy let Milly affect him so soundly. It was cute, though – that level of devotion he held for her.

In the tape, I had returned the camera to my bag as usual, in its familiar place with the lens viewing everything. I forgot to shut it down, so it followed us as we walked and talked about all the things on our minds that morning. It followed us to our classes, to lunch, and finally, on that trip to the dorms.

Since I was there, I already felt tense, watching the footage; now, knowing that her death is only a few hundred frames away, my nervousness grows, and my tension is through the roof. As the version of me on the screen lifts her hand to open a door, I lift my hand to pause the film. Aelita and Hiroki stare, so I reach down to my backpack and pull out a white board and marker. "She dies next," I scrawl, with tears dripping on the board and making the still wet marker run, and hold the board in front of me so the others can see. I wipe off the blue mess with my palm and start over. "Do you really want to see that?"

We're silent for so long that the screen turns blue, from lack of activity. "I... think I want to see." It's Hiroki who is speaking, who hadn't said a word all night. For some reason, this surprises me... yet it's what I should have expected, I think.

I turn to Aelita, who nods. "No need to skip over this part."

I pick up the remote and hit play. The screen flickers back to life and the door onscreen swings open. Milly and I walked towards the stairs, talking about how we should start doing interviews more often... and then the ground quivered. The bag shook as I turned to Aelita, quizzically; then, all fell down around us and we fell to the floor. We crawled to each other as the world fell apart around us. The familiar happened, but is was surreal, watching it from the eye of the camera. The screen lurched sideways when I pulled it from its bag and aimed it at Milly, then straightened out as she began to speak.

"Th-this is Milly with KNN – Kadic News Network. Me and my co host Tamiya are trapped here under what's left of the Kadic dormitory Block B. An earthquake has just hit Kadic College, and we are still here. We don't know how long our air will last, or how long we'll be trapped here. We hope that this eyewitness footage may be of some help in the future."

"Your delivery is so unprofessional," I joke. She laughs, and I laugh as well. "Shaky voice? Tsk, tsk, Mily."

"You try speaking when you've just wet your pants sometime!" She cracks up laughing, and I cautiously kept the camera trained above her waist, just in case. "Maybe the wait for help won't be so bad after all," she says.

And that was when we heard that strange, grating sound, like gravel sifting through a silo, or water being poured from a bucket. We both looked up, but the camera remained on Milly. And then, in a single moment, she was crushed. Playing back the video now makes me realize that it really was instant. She didn't suffer. That takes a huge burden from my shoulders.

Back on the tape, I'm screaming; it sounds as horrible now as it did then. But my screaming dies as a thud is heard; evidently, something hit me in the head, and the camera lurches up as I fall to the ground. No wonder I couldn't remember anything; I wasn't awake for anything else to happen. That's comforting, I think. What happens next on the tape is also comforting, but is a kick to the gut, as well. the camera now points at the ceiling, its light illuminating the cracks and slabs above. This was expected, so I lift the remote to turn off the television. Then, I hesitate. Did I hear something?

I turn to Hiroki, who turns to Aelita. Surely I didn't... Aelita raises an eyebrow, and we here it again. A sob. I snap back to the screen, as if the camera will magically turn and point at the source of the noise. It doesn't, of course, but I can still here that sound. About every few moments, a sob. In the video I'm crying. It's a little funny, as I'm crying in real life, too. But on the tape, I sound... different. Almost like Milly, even.

Then it hits me. Milly was still alive after she was crushed by all of that debris.

That weight, lifted from earlier, comes crashing back down. Milly didn't die painlessly. She suffered. She was in pain. My Milly was crying to herself why I was out cold. Unsurprisingly, I'm more than a little upset by this. There I was, knocked out by a rock, while Milly was alone and trapped under many more, blood rushing out of her body, soaking my sneakers, my clothes. Of all the times that I wished that I could be there for her, this is the biggest one. What I would have given to be by her side as she died.

The videotape is a poor substitute.

"Tamiya..." I hear. It's Milly, on the tape.

And then, nothing.

The three of us wait for a minute, hoping to hear one last moment with Milly. Sadly, there is no such respite for our sadness. Hiroki, Aelita, and I. Three people bound by a common thread – Milly. Three people who mourn her loss and haven't tried to fill that empty void in their lives. There's no one who could fill her shoes. There isn't anyone who will be as bright, charismatic, as brilliantly unique as Milly.

The video is a poor substitute. It's something, though, and it answered a few of our questions. It brought us together again. It reminded us of the one we lost. It showed us her last moments. It made us crack our wounds all over again, made us revisit who we had grown to love.

I untangle myself from the blankets and turn off the camera and the television. Aelita helps me wrap the wires and put everything back into its place. Hiroki stares at us.

Finally, he says, "Thanks," and pulls the covers tighter around himself.

"You're welcome," Aelita says. "Thanks for caring."

"You're welcome." And then, he smiles. And Aelita smiles. And lastly, I smile. We have each other now, when we're at our lowest. It's what Milly would have wanted, I'm sure.


End file.
